


Succor

by Kylenne



Series: Kinktober 2020 [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bisexual Female Character of Color, Black Female Character, Everybody Lives, F/F, Femslash, First Time, Gisele Surana (OC), Healing Sex, Implied Relationships, Kinktober 2020, October Prompt Challenge, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, Polyamory, Redemption Equals Gay, Ysayle Dangoulain Lives, Yuri
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:20:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26752723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kylenne/pseuds/Kylenne
Summary: There are many kinds of healing: thus is the axiom by which Gisele Surana has lived, in two lives, across two worlds. But what becomes of a woman when her heroic sacrifice is averted, and she is finally forced to reckon with her feelings?
Relationships: Ysayle Dangoulain/Warrior of Light
Series: Kinktober 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1948408
Comments: 17
Kudos: 26





	Succor

**Author's Note:**

> This is the direct sequel to a prompt fill from last month's FFXIVWrite 2020 challenge. The previous fic explains how Ysayle survived, and can be found here: https://elfyourmother.tumblr.com/post/628114370484961280/prompt-1-crux-a-sudden-chill-fluttered-through

Gisele stared up at Ser Aymeric, her arms folded across her chest; he towered over her, but she cared not, and stood with her chin tilted in the air, exhaling deep through her flaring nostrils.

“Is she in your care, or is she in your custody?” she demanded.

“My friend, this is hardly the place—” 

“With due respect, Lord Commander, I must know.”

Aymeric sighed, shutting his eyes a moment before beckoning Gisele through the ornate door into his office. But he did not round the enormous desk to take his tall-backed seat; Gisele always thought it rather resembled the oakenwood throne in the palace at Denerim, and how ironically apt the comparison was, now that he was for all intents and purposes Ishgard’s ruler. Nay, he stood before the desk instead, leaning back upon it, his palms spread flat upon it. It was unusually casual for him, Gisele thought, but then they were alone.

“None save myself, Lucia, and Handeloup know of her presence here,” Aymeric said quietly. “Of a surety, it is the gravest of state secrets at present. Even Captain Whitecape knows not her true identity, only that I have taken her as my personal charge—and that is all he needs know. No doubt you’ve noticed that tensions run high here in the city, of late. Should it be known the infamous Lady Iceheart lies within these walls, too many would bay for her blood.”

“Her name is Ysayle!” Gisele snapped, bristling at his use of the old epithet. But Aymeric raised his arms and spread his hands wide before him.

“Peace, my friend; I meant no offense, only to make clear the delicate nature of--”

“—nor did you answer my question. Do not think to turn my inquiry aside with a honeyed tongue and a diplomat’s sophistry. Ishgard may think me little more than a common sellsword--mayhap at best the spellblade in the Lord Commander’s sheath--but I assure you, monsieur, that I am not nearly so simple a woman as that,” Gisele said coldly.

Aymeric leveled a cool gaze upon her. “Only a fool would believe you a common sellsword, or simple—or my pawn, Mistress Surana. And I assure you, I am no fool.”

“Then answer me! What is to be the fate of Ysayle Dangoulain, who saved my life?” Gisele cried. “Will you at least permit me to say my farewells before she is flung into Witchdrop for the wolves and the carrion eaters, Lord Commander?”

“I bid you please lower your voice, Mistress Surana,” Aymeric said quietly.

Gisele’s lower lip was quivering, and she bit it hard, drawing upon every onze of discipline she possessed not to let him see her cry. “Very well,” she said hoarsely.

“Thank you. As I intended to say…I would not see Mistress Dangoulain marched to Witchdrop, Gisele. Not now, or ever. I have not forgotten the role she played in quelling the violence in the city that night. Neither can I forget that her hands are stained red with the blood of innocent Ishgardians...yet her death would do aught to wash it away, and she has proven a greater a friend to Ishgard than those who deemed themselves most holy, in the end. I would grant her clemency, that she might continue to atone for her crimes, and strive with us in the cause of peace. She is our strongest possible ally in the matter of reconciliation with dragonkind, and I would not leave her to the desperate hands of zealots.”

“Aymeric...”

There was steel in those silvery blue eyes of his, as his brow furrowed in conviction. “You have my most solemn vow, upon the sacred hoplon of the Fury Herself: no harm shall come to Ysayle Dangoulain, and I shall do everything within my power both as Lord Commander of the Temple Knights, and interim Archbishop of the Holy See of Ishgard to see her hale and protected. As you well know, Lord Haurchefant has been deemed well enough to return home to Fortemps Manor to continue his recovery. His Lordship the Count Edmont has agreed to so care for Ysayle, as well, once she is hale enough. I’m to understand Master Alphinaud spoke eloquently enough to move his heart in the matter.”

As was his wont, Gisele thought, smiling on the inside, her heart swelling with pride. When she sighed again, this time it was in relief.

“Aymeric,” she began softly, “thank you. A thousand times, thank you. Pray, forgive me my impertinence; it was cruel and unbecoming to believe you capable of such villainy, when you have never given me cause.” 

She delicately took up her skirts, and swept as graceful a curtsey as she had ever made. Of a surety, did she feel tremendously foolish. Aymeric was no zealot, nor a legalist by any means; he was, above all else, a pragmatist, and was not beholden to the same prejudices as his tradition-bound brethren. His was a fresh and sorely needed perspective, and Gisele believed the Holy See could have no better Archbishop than he in such a tumultuous time of transition, though she felt a strange and unexpected pang at the thought of him being consumed by such a lofty position, sequestered within the Vault. Mayhap she was minded of King Maric, then, and Loghain’s tales of how suffocated he was by the weight of his crown, the solitude of his burden. She would not, could not wish that upon Aymeric. It was terrible enough that necessity forced it upon Alistair. She could not bear the thought of Aymeric suffering it too.

To her surprise, Aymeric pushed off from the desk, the distance between them shrinking in but a few long, elegant strides, as he smiled at her all the while. And he bid her to rise, with a light touch of his hand upon her elbow. “I cannot fault you your passion, dear lady. Lord Haurchefant yet lives because of it. As does our most unlikely ally, to hear Alphinaud tell it. Did you truly leap off the deck of an airship in flight?”

“I—oh, dear. It rather does sound uncommonly foolish when one puts it that way, no?” A sudden flush of warmth spread through her cheeks of deep bronze; she raised her hand to her lips. In the heat of the moment, mayhap, when all stood teetering upon the edge and Ysayle’s very life hung in the balance, it made the most perfect sense. In the clearest light of day, however, far removed from such peril…mayhap it sounded somewhat different.

Aymeric’s eyes grew wide, and he burst into hysterics, doubling over in laughter so hard, he clutched at his belly to will it to cease; it was infectious, and Gisele could not help but laugh along with him, all thought of previous tension released. She had not laughed that way in quite some time—she’d little cause for it, in truth—and it felt cleansing, of a sort. Stranger still that it might be sparked by the ever dignified Lord Commander, but Gisele knew his warmth, behind that regal mask so tightly affixed. 

After a long moment, he took several deep breaths, calming himself. “If you wish to see her, she rests in the chamber beside Haurchefant’s.”

* * *

The sun hung low upon the horizon outside the infirmary’s walls, bathing her in soft light of honeyed gold streaming through the bedside window. Its warmth proved such a stark contrast to her icy pallor, and Gisele’s eyes were transfixed; but when she groaned in sudden affliction, Gisele’s heart leapt into her throat, until she saw the pale, trembling hand clutch at her temple. That was a pain Hydaelyn’s Chosen knew all too well, and she relaxed her shoulders. She need not ask what plagued her unlikely companion for that interminable moment, for Gisele knew all too well what that sudden, sharp pain at the brow foretold. Instead, she reached over to the sick bed with a gentle hand, stroking her shoulder. Gisele knew that Ysayle could not feel it, not whilst in the grip of the vision; but she also knew the grounding effect that touch had, rooting one back in the present with greater ease once it passed. 

“Ysayle,” Gisele said softly, gently squeezing her shoulder, breathing each syllable with deliberate enunciation. 

Ysayle’s long, silvery lashes fluttered as might butterfly wings, when at last her eyes slowly opened. They widened, when she turned her head upon the downy pillow, and beheld Gisele sitting at her bedside.

“Gisele,” Ysayle breathed, her voice low and soft. Warmth spread through Gisele’s chest at the very sound of it. “Forgive me. Twas Mother’s gift.”

“I know,” Gisele replied. “How do you fare, my dear?”

“I fare,” Ysayle said dryly, her pallid lips curving into a slight, wry smile. “And what a strange thing that is.”

Gisele returned her smile, her heart swelling. “I would call it wonderful,” she said, squeezing Ysayle's shoulder once more.

“What of Azys Lla?” Ysayle asked. “I remember nothing, beyond that great Light…”

“We found Thordan and the Heavens’ Ward deep within the bowels of the Aetherochemical Research Facility,” Gisele said. “It was…an eldritch and terrible place, truly. The more I see of their foul remnants, the more I believe the world is well rid of the Allagans. What a twisted people, they were. At any rate, t'would seem that Nidhogg’s missing Eye lay in Ishgard itself, these long centuries. It was entombed with Prince Haldrath in the Vault.” 

“Is there no end to the Holy See’s lies?” Ysayle mumbled. “What did the Archbishop seek in that wretched place?”

“None less than godhood. Lahabrea revealed to him the secrets of summoning, some months ago—when, we do not know precisely, but Ser Aymeric has posited that it must have been not long after I defeated him at the Praetorium,” Gisele replied. “’Tis a sound theory, I must concur. Operation Archon so thoroughly thwarting their designs for the Ultima Weapon may well have spurred the Ascians to focus their energies upon the subversion of the Archbishop. With the subdual of the beast tribe gods, Lahabrea revealing such secrets to Thordan makes a great deal of sense.”

Ysayle snorted softly. “As Igeyorhm revealed them to me. They were playing both sides against one another, we Harriers and the Holy See. Mayhap from the very start…I would not be surprised to find an Ascian found King Thordan’s ear so long ago, whispering of Eyes and power.”

“The Ascians are ever fond of such methods. Chaos is ever their true purpose; the Dragonsong War suits it to frightening perfection. What better way to foment it than to set Primals upon each side? As you were the Harriers’ champion, Saint Shiva, so too did Thordan and the Heavens’ Ward clad themselves as ancient figures of Halonic legend, in their case King Thordan and the Knights Twelve.” 

Ysayle winced, clamping her eyes shut. “Gods, I was such a fool,” she muttered with a deep, bitter sigh.

“They are skilled manipulators, Ysayle. For millennia, they have done these things, preying upon the weaknesses of mortals, appealing to our darkest impulses with silver tongues and hollow promises. I can not say that you were blameless, but you knew not what you did, in lending them your ear. The temptation of power is great, indeed.” Gisele stroked her shoulder, and it was all she could do not to fling herself upon the bed to take Ysayle into her arms, and soothe her pain. “Were I still in my homeland, and an Ascian told me she held the secret to ending the Blight forever, if only I might gather such crystals, and become as Holy Andraste, or the Creators of my people…I can not say what I would have done.”

Ysayle sighed again, but said nothing more of it. “But why Azys Lla? I must assume they held all the aether they needed for their summoning within the missing Eye.”

Gisele’s jaw tensed at the memory of the horrors she beheld in the Vault, that fateful day when she very nearly lost what was most precious to her. “They did; when I fought some few of them in the Vault, they each took the form of one of the ancient Knights. Ser Zephirin certainly did, when he nearly murdered Haurchefant. Nay, what Thordan sought upon the floating isle was yet more power, for he and his accursed knights. It seems the Allagans imprisoned a trio of Elder Primals upon Azys Lla, living trophies of their great war with the Merycidians. Imagine such Primals to equal Bahamut in power…and there are three. The research facility held the controls for their prison, and all of the lore the Allagans recorded of them. Thordan sought to consume them, even as I watched him consume Lahabrea. With such power, he would become a living God-King, crushing not merely the Dravanians, but Eorzea herself, ending all conflict under the heel of his tyranny. How ironic that he spoke as a Garlean would, whilst clad in the flesh of the eikons they so despised.”

“Saint preserve us all!” Ysayle gasped. “Was he truly so mad?”

“Of a surety, he was,” Gisele said, shuddering at the memory of it—the fear and desperation with which he lashed out at her, as his strength waned and he knew he would be bested. And naught was left but fear, in the hollow eyes of the old man which remained, broken at last. “But Thordan is no more, and Ser Aymeric rules Ishgard in his place, for now. He desires to sue for peace with dragonkind.”

Ysayle closed her eyes, then, taking a slow, deep breath. “I can scarce believe it has ended at last…our long and winding road. Would that I could have been there at your side to see it through, my sister.”

Turning her gaze once more to Gisele, Ysayle reached out to her with a trembling hand, and Gisele gently took it within her own, lacing their slender fingers together, seeking to give her but an onze of warmth against the cold. A thousand times, this moment unfolded itself again and again in Gisele’s thoughts; what might she say, if she could only speak to Ysayle but once more? A thousand questions burned upon her tongue, and a thousand answers she feared in the asking. Still, there was but one which haunted those thoughts, above all others, and though she also feared the answer above all others, neither could she turn her curiosity aside; Gisele’s heart would not permit it.

“Pray, Ysayle…why?” Gisele asked, her voice grown terribly small, as her heart beat wildly in her ears. “Why did you do such a thing, in the skies before Azys Lla?”

“Because I must,” Ysayle replied simply. “Because I could not forsake my dream.”

“Did we not share it?” Gisele demanded. “For what purpose did we walk that long and winding road together, if not for peace? And why did you not seek us out sooner? Why did you slip away into the night, after you bid your followers to stand down?”

Ysayle sighed deeply, shuddering in Gisele’s grasp, but Gisele slowly drew her thumb against the back of Ysayle’s hand, with smooth and gentle caresses. And Ysayle’s lids closed, lashes fluttering once more ever so slightly, her breath hitched but a moment. Gisele suddenly had to remember to breathe, so captivated she was by the pursing of her lips.

Even in hospice, her body battered and bruised by the might of Garlemald, Ysayle Dangoulain was beautiful.

And it had been so long, too long, since they shared a quiet moment such as this, in contemplation together, even if they spoke of dire necessities.

When Ysayle’s lids opened once more, Gisele spied the shimmering of tears forming in her eyes of frost-kissed, silvery blue.

“I was so certain,” Ysayle whispered, her voice trembling, caught in her throat. “Always so certain. I was no mere refugee of the Calamity, no; I was Saint Shiva reborn. Such an alluring delusion it was to a girl who had nothing, forced by circumstance compounded by base cruelty to eke out an existence upon the margins.”

Gisele reached down with her other hand, and gently brushed away a stray lock of silvery hair, tucking it behind her pointed ear. “Betimes our minds conjure such fancies for a purpose. It was a useful thing, once, when you needed it most—it kept you from despair.”

“Betimes,” she mumbled, lowering her eyes, to shut them once more. After a long moment of such pensive silence, Gisele thought she may have drifted to sleep, and made to take her leave, but for the glancing sight of a single tear trickling down Ysayle’s pallid cheek, followed by another, and another, until they streamed rivulets.

“Oh, Ysayle…” Gisele breathed, frowning; she drifted her hand from Ysayle’s brow to the dampness of her cheek, brushing away her tears with gentle, feather-light caresses, and Gisele could not help but marvel at the way Ysayle came alive beneath her touch. At first she believed it a mere deception born of the fading light, but upon second glance, there was no mistaking the way Ysayle’s lashes fluttered subtly when Gisele's thumb brushed against the height of her sharp cheekbone. There were no tears then.

“Saint preserve me but your touch is the sweetest of torments.” Ysayle’s words came in a ragged whisper, her voice choked.

Gisele froze, startled; her heart pounded wildly within her ears. “Do you wish me to cease?”

“No. But you wished to know why I did not seek you out sooner? This is why,” Ysayle said softly. “Long have I born fascination for you, from the moment I first beheld you at Snowcloak; you are unlike any other I have ever known, in beauty and strength, and none has ever wielded Mother’s gift with such grace as you. When I saw through it how you had suffered so in Ferelden, and the lengths to which you went to end the Fifth Blight, I knew I had found a kindred soul the likes of which I had yearned for all my life. And I knew that you were the one person on life who would understand the necessity of what must be done. I had so many fevered dreams of turning you to our cause, and then I spied the smoke signal and it was if a beacon of hope was lit upon the snowy field. It was in Dravania, upon our journey together, that I truly understood why you are the very heart of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn, because your strength is matched only by your compassion. It was your heart, Gisele, that deepened my affections for you…what was once infatuation became somewhat more. And then…I saw you falling hopelessly in love with the Azure Dragoon. I knew you lay with him the night we awaited the shifting of the winds. And when I heard you cry Estinien’s name, I knew then that you belonged to Ishgard, and never to me. My childish fantasies were shattered, not least of which the notion I had at last found companionship, in the only one who has ever understood me. And then Hraesvelgr stripped me of my precious delusion that I was the Saint reborn. I was well and truly bereft, then.”

Gisele sighed, stroking Ysayle’s cheek. “Oh, love,” she whispered, her own eyes welling with tears, as the enormity of Ysayle’s words cut her to the very core. Always, there had been a simmering undercurrent of tension between them—mayhap even from the first, in the wake of their icy duel at Snowcloak. Ysayle had haunted her thoughts, her very dreams, ever since that day. And she cherished the deepening bond between them, despite their one time enmity, whatever it might be; but Gisele could not deny what she wanted, how her heart raced with every lingering glance, how the merest touch so enflamed her blood, how her wry smile turned her knees to jelly. But Gisele’s own burgeoning feelings for Estinien complicated matters greatly, and so she remained silent in her yearning, desperate to keep the fragile peace of their little fellowship, strained though it betimes was. Yet, to hear Ysayle had suffered so grievously all this time—precisely what Gisele sought to avoid, by her silence and inaction…

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…” Gisele whispered, brushing the tears from her cheeks with the fine linen handkerchief from her pocket.

“Whatever for?” Ysayle asked in mild bewilderment.

“For making you suffer so long, and so needlessly.”

And then Gisele leaned down, slowly turning Ysayle’s flushed face to meet her own; she found Ysayle’s lips with her own, parting them with a gentle tongue, tender and sweet at first. But Ysayle hungrily devoured her, pressing hard against Gisele’s mouth, and it was as if a dam had burst within her, months of repressed desire gushing forth to wash over Gisele in waves so fierce she feared she might drown in Ysayle’s yearning, but it merely called to her own, stirring it to a fevered roiling. Gisele realized then that she was half sprawled atop Ysayle—to her own mild mortification, and slid back down beside her, with her arm still draped across her body.

“Your lips are even sweeter than I imagined,” Ysayle mused in no small amount of wonder. “Gods…”

“Tis love that is the sweetest,” Gisele said, curling her finger within a silvery lock of Ysayle’s hair. “Ah, Ysayle! If only you knew how I ached for you both, by turns. But you were ever odds, you and Estinien, and I did not wish to become yet another point of contention between you, not when we all strove towards the same goal—to bring the war to an end. I lay with him that night because I could not bear to see him suffer brooding by his lonesome, and so chased him, and then were our feelings for one another laid bare. But it could have just as easily been you I laid with that night, Ysayle. You may have been bereft of your beliefs, but you never were bereft of me. Pray forgive me, for not telling you sooner.”

Ysayle sighed. “I do not wish to make of myself a complication for you, Gisele.”

“Why would you?” Gisele asked, with a quirk of her eyebrow. “I have been Lord Haurchefant’s lover since long before I was Estinien’s, and we love as we will, free and unfettered. We place no claims of possession upon one another, only a solemn vow to be forthright in our affections, always. If I should be yours, he would only wish me happiness in it, as he did with Estinien and I—nay, he even came to share it, and became Estinien’s lover in kind. Such is the nature of our love. And he trusts you, implicitly. If we were to become somewhat more than boon comrades, he would be joyous.”

“If…” Ysayle mumbled.

Gisele lightly brushed her brow with her fingertips. “Do you wish it, my dear?”

“With all my heart…but I am not worthy of one such as you,” Ysayle said, once more closing her eyes, and swallowed hard. “One eve at Zenith, I heard Mother’s voice, though it was different then, than ever I had heard it. She told me that you were in mortal danger, that the Garleans had laid you and yours a trap into which you sailed all unwitting. I knew then what I must do, for my heart would permit nothing else, and so I went to Hraesvelgr begging his aid a final time. The rest, you know…but you robbed me of that final gift I would give to you, the only one I was worthy to give.”

“Ysayle!” Gisele gasped in horror, startled by her confession. She had long suspected it, of course, that Ysayle meant to die above Azys Lla—Gisele was no fool—but it was quite another matter entire to hear it from the woman’s own lips. “How could you say such a thing?”

“Much innocent blood has been spilled on my account. Far too much,” Ysayle replied, her jaw tensing. “If one life be all that was required to see the Archbishop held to account for the Holy See’s long crimes, and the War ended…better it should be that of dread Lady Iceheart, who sought these things, and not the Warrior of Light. And my hands are far too stained by such blood to hold you thus, besides.”

“I would not have leapt from Cid’s airship in the skies before Azys Lla if I did not believe you worthy, my love. I did it because my heart would not permit you to make a noble sacrifice of yourself, for it could not bear the thought of losing you,” Gisele replied softly.

Ysayle grew warm and flush beneath Gisele’s touch, and her eyes flooded with tears once more. “Gisele…” she breathed softly, her voice hitching within her throat.

“I love you, Ysayle Dangoulain,” Gisele said firmly, stroking her cheeks by turns, wiping away her tears, pressing tender kisses where they had fallen, again and again. “And I believe you worthy of more than death, of noble sacrifice. So, _live_ , and make of your life a journey of atonement. And if you so choose, I shall never permit you to walk it alone, for I shall be ever at your side, to aid you should you falter, to comfort you, and to remind you that you are not bereft. I would be yours, as you so desire; as I desire you to be mine.”

With that, Gisele again found Ysayle’s mouth with her own, pressing the fullness of her lips against hers, and with aching tenderness did Ysayle return it, enough to steal the very breath from Gisele's lungs. She reached for Gisele with trembling hands, clinging to the fine crimson silk of her bodice.

When at last she pulled back for air, Ysayle’s smile was bright and dazzling as the candlelight which softly illuminated her features. “Oh, Gisele. I fear I am dreaming this.”

“If it be a dream, then it is one from which I pray we never wake,” Gisele whispered.

Again and again, they sought one another’s lips, drinking of intoxicating sweetness, fair drowning in one another—kissing Ysayle truly was intoxicating, far sweeter than any wine Gisele had ever known. And her blood ran hotter and hotter, her heart beating in her ears, as Ysayle pulled her down, til Gisele was pressed tightly against the warmth of her body, radiating heat through the soft, light woolens of her sick robe. But it was the sensation of Ysayle’s hands fumbling for the laces of her bodice which gave Gisele reason to pause, to temper the rising tide of desire which threatened to overwhelm all her healer’s sense. Such exertions may well prolong her recovery, or worse, such was the severity of her injuries. Gisele had spoken at length with Captain Whitecape regarding the matter, and knew it well.

“Ysayle,” Gisele said firmly. “You cannot—your body is in no condition for this.”

“Do not deny me this, love,” Ysayle whispered, her eyes bright and yearning. “I know you want this as much as I.”

“By the Fury, I do. But I would not risk your recovery, no matter how much we both desire it.”

“You are a healer, are you not?” Ysayle quirked a silvery eyebrow at her, in a half-lidded stare that made Gisele’s mouth grow dry of a moment. “Then soothe me with your ministrations, as only a healer can.”

Gisele could not help but giggle at the insistence with which she said it, even as her words lit the spark to her imagination. Spoken in lust though they were, there was truth in what Ysayle asked of her. Pleasure was its own manner of healing, on its own…but Gisele had learned well, and early, that the most powerful manner of her healing magicks was entwined with it, inexorably so. She had known it even in the Circle, from the first time Ser Victoria complained of muscles sore from training, only to emerge from the shadows with which she stole moments with Gisele invigorated, as though she had never strained them. But these things were known even to Eorzea, for the Amdapori White Mages penned manuals on the matter centuries ago: that the aether roused by lovemaking was healing in and of itself, but when stirred by a healer with intent, proved most potent. Gisele knew it well, even before she saw it confirmed in those ancient texts.

For how often had she breathed life into Thancred’s weary flesh with scintillating kisses, rooting him back into the body he had been summarily smothered within at the eldritch hands of Lahabrea? And how often had she bathed and dressed Haurchefant’s wound, and stroked him to completion with hands and lips infused with aether and intent to soothe his agony? Mayhap it is why, to all astonishment of the hospitaliers who cared for him, his recovery was so remarkable and swift. Even as love was a balm upon a wounded spirit, of a surety was it a balm upon a wounded body. It was no panacea, but it proved a comfort, and any such comfort was a boon to the healing process.

She gazed down upon Ysayle, smiling, for Gisele could not deny how very much she wished to provide that comfort, to one she held so dear. And she was no green apprentice, in either respect; she would find a way.

“Hmm. Tis true enough that the pleasure of release does soothe all manner of pains of the flesh,” Gisele said thoughtfully, tracing a light circle about Ysayle’s cheek. “And, I am indeed possessed of a healer’s hands…”

“Use them well, love,” Ysayle said, blinking slowly. “My wounds are naught when measured against this ache.”

Gisele leaned down to brush her lips against Ysayle’s brow. “Lie still, my dear. And if you should be discomfited, for any reason, I implore you tell me, and I shall cease at once.”

Ysayle mimicked Gisele’s movements, tracing her own lines against her cheek. “I trust you,” she said, in soft reply.

With slow deliberation did Gisele begin to unravel the laces of Ysayle’s gown, revealing first the fullness of her breasts, so soft and luscious; she skimmed feather-light touches about them with her fingertips, drawing circles about the sensitive pink flesh of her large nipples, and watched Ysayle’s skin grow flush with every caress, awakening with rising desire. She cupped them, kneading them gently, lightly squeezing her nipples between her fingertips, caressing the tops of them.

But her heart was caught in her throat all of a sudden, as she opened the garment all the more. Ysayle’s alabaster skin was riddled with scars, across the length and breadth of her long torso; some thin, and barely perceptible, but others were large bruises in angry shades of deep violet. Gisele swallowed down the tears which threatened once more, along with the profound pang of guilt that accompanied them. Ysayle’s body was so beautiful, and it had become so broken because of her—even as Haurchefant’s had. Yet, she blinked hard, turning those maudlin thoughts aside with firmness, for it would have dishonored the choice Ysayle had made to take them.

Gisele glanced up to see Ysayle staring at her, the corners of her generous mouth curved downward into a frown.

“The Primal’s aether absorbed the worst of it,” Ysayle said, “but my body paid the price, nonetheless. I have become…”

Gisele had never heard Ysayle’s voice so small, so trembling, not even upon that fateful morning at Zenith, before Hraesvelgr, when the only world she had known crumbled down around her.

“…yet more beautiful, my love,” Gisele said. It was no platitude, by any means; much like the enormous, shimmering scar upon Haurchefant’s abdomen, Ysayle’s scars were proof of her selflessness, her bravery—and her love for Gisele. They were indeed beautiful to her, for they told the story of her heart, strong and true. They were sacred, and Gisele would pay them homage as a pilgrim prostrating before the holiest altar; she inhaled deeply, slowly, reaching out with her senses to the stars twinkling in the night sky, breathing deep of the gentle energies of the stone beneath them, fair tingling with aether. Gisele made of herself a vessel even as she opened her own heart and coaxed forth the sensation of conviction, of devotion, everything she felt in that moment she cried out to Hydaelyn begging her aid, to save the woman she loved. And she poured that love out upon Ysayle’s broken body, with soft lips and a gentle tongue, and no small amount of reverence, for what those scars meant—for what Ysayle meant, to her.

“You are loved,” Gisele breathed, exhaling gentle aether in soft waves against Ysayle’s bruises with each tender press of her lips. Her aether was as shattered as her flesh, it seemed, and Gisele sought to mend it with every caress of her tongue. She lingered between upon her heart, planting kiss after charged kiss upon it, but her lightly shimmering hands could not help but follow those deliciously supple curves to squeeze her breasts once more; gods but they were glorious, soft and warm, and Gisele worshipped them with her mouth by turns, suckling her nipples til they grew hard within her hungry lips. She could not get enough of them, and Ysayle’s soft whimpers were only a goad to her desire.

Gisele suddenly cursed the lack of space at the foot of the bed, for she wanted nothing more in that moment than to bury her tongue betwixt Ysayle’s lusciously thick thighs, but she could not rest there, and dared not shift Ysayle lower to the edge, that she might kneel before her upon the floor. 

“Love?” Ysayle asked, her lids heavy with desire.

“What is it?”

“Let me see you,” Ysayle said, her voice quivering with the desperation of her hunger.

Gisele smiled rather coyly, and leveled a smoldering gaze all while she unlaced her bodice; she slid the crimson silk past her shoulders to reveal her own ample breasts, hoisted in a lacy black brassiere—somewhat ironically, a gift from Minfilia, the last woman with whom she knew such pleasures. And her eyes never left Ysayle’s, even as she deliberately bent forward and found the hooks to her brassiere with a practiced hand, sight unseen, and even as she breathed a deep sigh of relief once free of the restrictive garment, relaxing unfettered.

“Does it please you, love?” she asked, coyly stretching her long arms before lowering her hands back to Ysayle’s thighs.

“Saint preserve me,” Ysayle muttered, her mouth agape, and Gisele giggled.

“I shall take that as a fervent ‘yes’,” she said rather triumphantly, and sunk back down, upon her hands and knees, slithering her way up the long length of Ysayle’s body before returning to nestle back beside her, and no sooner than she pressed her bare flesh against her did Ysayle lift a trembling arm with some difficulty, to wrap it about Gisele, sliding beneath Gisele’s arm to grasp the curve of her breast.

“You’ve the most exquisite physique…” Ysayle sighed blissfully, cupping Gisele within her hot hand, and Gisele gasped in delight when Ysayle’s fingers found her dark nipple, pinching and teasing it.

Gisele’s hand skimmed down Ysayle’s abdomen, her fingers tracing lazy circles upon her skin, lower and dangerously lower.

“How much do you yearn for me, my sweet girl?” Gisele asked.

“Touch me, and you shall know it,” Ysayle replied, a cutting edge to her tone that sent the most pleasant of shivers tingling up Gisele’s spine, as much as the pointed squeeze of her hand upon Gisele’s breast.

Gisele slid a single finger downward, curving into Ysayle’s swollen sex, slippery and fair drenched; she swirled her finger, teasing her slick folds, and smiled to hear Ysayle’s breath hitch sharply when she did. 

“Gods, how wet you are,” she marveled. “You’ve fair soaked the sheets with need.”

Ysayle shifted slightly, spreading open her thighs in shameless invitation. “So attend to me, my lovely healer, as you so promised.”

Gisele did not need to be told twice.

Once more inhaling deep, Gisele whispered the familiar incantation, drawing upon the flows of aether within and without, and lightly stroked Ysayle’s slick folds, parting them slowly with her knuckle, her hot palm resting upon her mound. She found the swollen pearl at the crown with ease, for it was deliciously large, and Gisele caressed it with her glowing fingertips, eliciting a gasp of delight from her prone lover. It was so tempting to toy mercilessly with Ysayle, to make her beg for release, but there would be time enough for spice in loveplay; now was the time for sweetness, for succor. And so Gisele massaged Ysayle’s slick pearl with her thumb, over and again, in a firm and sensual rhythm, eliciting delicious moans from her.

There were many kinds of healing, of a surety.

She curled a finger and slid inside her entrance with ease, penetrating her deep to the knuckle, and Gisele marveled at what a cauldron of heat Ysayle possessed between her thighs; she was hotter than an Ul’dahn forge within, belying her one time moniker with extreme prejudice, and she fair pulsed with the intensity of her need. In and out Gisele slipped a slender finger from within her, and it was lovely, so lovely the way Ysayle’s breath hitched with every stroke of Gisele’s finger, and she squeezed her own thighs together against the throbbing between them. Gods, but how could she believe herself unworthy of such love, such pleasure? Gisele would grant it to her endlessly, if only to feel her blossom like a flower yearning for the light of the sun within her hand, and listen to such sweet sounds as she made, whimpering blissfully against Gisele’s skin.

“You are worthy,” Gisele breathed into her ear, as she caressed Ysayle’s inner walls. She slipped a second finger within—her longest—stroking and stroking her in a languorous rhythm, even as she rubbed firm, deft circles against her clit with her thumb, and planted a scintillating, aether-charged kiss upon the elegant line of her neck, nipping it with her teeth. “And you are mine, darling girl. Do not doubt it.”

Despite Gisele’s prior instruction, Ysayle’s body moved seemingly of its own volition, her hips rising up to meet each of Gisele’s languid strokes, desperate for yet more delicious friction. And her soft cries of pleasure were sweeter than any bard’s song, to Gisele’s ear; in truth they were melodic, rising octaves with every thrust of Gisele’s fingers inside her, and they were a goad to her like little else. She quickened her pace, fair pumping her fingers within her and without, her thumb massaging her clit hard in perfect, steady rhythm.

“Come for me, cherie,” Gisele purred softly, biting the thin lobe of her ear, curling her fingers inside Ysayle to crook them in a beckoning gesture, to find that most divine of pleasure spots and stroke it endlessly. And with each sensual stroke, she felt Ysayle’s muscles tense about her hand, the whole of her body stiffening, bracing upon the precipice. “Let me hear you sing…”

Ysayle shuddered after a long moment, her inner walls clenching about Gisele’s thrusting fingers, and she tensed, gripping the sheets and Gisele’s skirts by turns; until finally her back fair arched off the bed, and waves of sweet release washed over the whole of her body, curling her toes even as she gasped and moaned.

“Gisele! Oh gods!” Ysayle cried out in ecstasy, and it was even sweeter than Gisele believed it would be. Ysayle fair sank into her pillow, her limbs grown heavy with blissful languor, panting softly with her exertion. And Gisele lay there a long moment in stillness, luxuriating in the sight of it, for Ysayle was even more beautiful to her then than she had ever been before, her damp skin radiant in the candlelight, her lips curved into a weary smile. For Gisele had never seen her so content, and it made her heart flutter with warmth and content. She would cherish the sight for the rest of her days, of a surety.

“I love you,” Gisele whispered, and pressed gentle lips against her temple. 

“And I you, always and always,” Ysayle replied, resting her head against Gisele.

Gisele withdrew her hand from Ysayle’s thighs, and was quite comically torn of a moment, for she yearned to taste the fruits of her labor upon her tongue; but Ysayle was soft and warm and so beautiful.

In the end, her desperate need to hold Ysayle won out, and so Gisele draped her arm across her, in a languid embrace.

“How do you feel?” Gisele asked.

Ysayle sighed rather dreamily in reply, blinking slow and soft. “As though somewhat has been purged from my very soul, though I know not what. It has been too long since I’ve known pleasure, and never have I known it quite like this. Thank you, Gisele.”

“The pleasure was mine,” Gisele said, smiling mischievously.

“I never dreamed the first time we made love would be this way,” Ysayle said. She sighed once more, in deep content. “But it is precious all the same, and I shall cherish the memory of it always. My only regret is that I am so maddeningly incapable of returning such pleasures you gave me, of a moment.”

Gisele lightly shook her head. “Do not fret, my love. Your pleasure is mine, as I said...and I would ask for naught in return. Only promise me that you shall heed the chirurgeons, and recover as swiftly as you can—only then might you repay me.”

Ysayle’s answering smile was delightfully impish, setting a twinkle of mischief to sparkle in her eyes. “You have given me a great deal of incentive to recover, love. I would return this kindness, and tenfold.”

Gisele giggled softly. “Good. I am curious, however…how did you dream of us, if not stealing furtive moments in the Temple Knights’ infirmary?”

“Always, it was beneath the stars of Dravania,” Ysayle replied, the impishness fading, replaced by a dreamy expression of yearning. “At the riverside, beneath swaying, ancient boughs, with dragonsong carried upon the night wind…mayhap in the light of day, with golden rays kissing your your skin even as did I, that I might behold your beauty in full.”

Wordlessly, Gisele held Ysayle tighter, burying her nose into her neck and all the while swallowing down the lump that formed in her throat. “One day, when you are hale, we shall make it so,” she promised.

“More than one, I should hope.”

Gisele felt Ysayle’s lips soft against her brow, and she opened her eyes, and parted those lips once more with her own, long and lingering and soft. She knew she would need to depart shortly; were she any other, she would not have been permitted to remain on such a visiting call upon the infirmary quite so late, but she was well known for the favor shown her by Ser Aymeric, and thus did Whitecape’s chirurgeons grant her privacy. Even so, she knew even this time grew short. But she wished to savor this moment as long as she could, and lingered as long as she dared, enraptured in Ysayle’s arms, tasting of the sweetness of her lips, stroking her sweat-damp face with fingers slick with the remnants of pleasure.

No moment lasted forever, though, of a surety.

And so at last, with a deft and practiced hand, Gisele laced Ysayle’s sick gown back up, before retrieving her own smallclothes and doing much the same for herself. She ached, in truth, burning with desire, but the night was long as yet, and Gisele would see to her own comfort. Thus restored to decency once more, Gisele rose to her feet, with one last embrace of Ysayle, one last lingering kiss upon her brow.

“I must bid you adieu, my love, and return to Fortemps Manor. But I have business as yet to attend in the city, and I shall visit as often as I can,” Gisele said, stroking her hair. “Do not hesitate to call upon me by linkpearl, or messenger—even a falcon.”

“Mayhap I should find some violet smoke,” Ysayle chuckled dryly.

Gisele laughed, squeezing Ysayle’s hand. “Mayhap. Good night, Ysayle. May Saint Shiva grant you the sweetest of dreams.” 

“She already has, _minette_.”


End file.
